Forgive Me (24 page)

“Don't mind if I do,” he said.

“Roger, would you like some dessert?” she asked.

“I am full. If it wasn't rude, I'd ask to take a plate home,” he said.

“That's not rude at all. I bought take-out plates so we could get rid of this food. We can't eat it all, and we don't need a whole lot of leftovers clogging up the fridge,” said J.B. “You
better
take something with you,” he said, winking at Roger.

Roger laughed at J.B.'s antics.

Aunjanue returned to the kitchen. In the short time she'd traveled to the den and back, Roberta dozed in the recliner. Aunjanue tapped her shoulder.

“Grandma Bert, go take a nap,” she said.

“And miss the marathon?”

“I'll wake you up when it comes on,” said Aunjanue.

She helped her grandmother to the nearest bedroom and tucked
her in. She went back to the kitchen, cut her grandfather's cake, and served it with a nice, tall glass of milk.

“Roger, I'm going to the car for a minute. I'll be right back.” She grabbed her purse.

He waved her away with a smile and mouthed, “Hurry back.”

Aunjanue walked outside. She paced a few steps before unlocking Roger's car door. She sat in the front seat, unzipping her bag. The new postcard, a replica of Van Gogh's
The Yellow House,
was tucked inside her oversized wallet. She'd snatched it from the mailbox before anyone could see it. She removed it from her wallet and read it again:
The ones who are supposed to protect you aren't doing it very well. We can be together in our own yellow house. I love you. T.

The secret of Tawatha's stalking crushed her. She had to find someone to talk to before she lost her mind.

S
ince the mountain wouldn't come to Tawatha, she decided to go the mountain. She arrived in Augusta, Georgia, the day after Thanksgiving, suitcase in hand, mission clearly defined. The performances she gave Royce and her parole officer were brilliant, and she patted herself on the back when she was done. Out-of-state travel required written permission from the parole division as well as her supervising officer, and she knew nothing would be as convincing as the death of a family member. Tawatha searched the
Augusta Chronicle
obituaries for the perfect relative and found him in the person of Mr. James Hart. She renamed him Keith “Mack” Gipson, her mother's
brother
. “Uncle Mack” died after falling from his rooftop repairing missing shingles. The rooftop disaster was a good start as Tawatha revised portions of Hart's life story. A little copying and pasting, and she'd crafted the perfect obituary that she printed out for Royce and her PO. She predicted she'd be in Augusta no more than a week, the length of time she'd reserved a room at the Jameson Suites on Claussen Road.

Now, as she sat in the hotel parking lot after touching up her makeup, she took out the folder with the address and directions to Shear Heaven Salon. Shear Heaven, less than seven miles from the hotel, was where she planned to camp out until she saw James. She decided she wouldn't approach him until he was alone, which
meant she had to adjust her schedule to track his comings and goings, but she was up for the challenge. She left the parking lot and headed toward the 1700 block of Wrightsboro Road.

She'd grown tired of begging her family to bridge the gap that separated them. Everyone deserved love, and she believed it was time she seized love with the man she truly desired.
“Carpe diem.”

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, admiring the Keri Hilson hairdo perfectly framing her face. The auburn color and honey-blonde streaks suited her. She wore one of Millie's skirt suits well. Surprisingly, the weather in Augusta was mild, so she ditched her heavy cashmere coat for a lighter one. “I could get used to this city. James and I could buy a house, have another baby, and I could help out with the businesses,” she said.

She'd arrived at Shear Heaven faster than expected, so she slowed down in front of the building until she came to a complete stop. She noticed a parking lot on the side of the building, so she moved her car there. The shop window had a light tint, but she saw movement in the building. Activity was light, then again, people were probably Black Friday shopping. She reached in the back seat for her floppy hat and sunglasses. She doubted anyone would recognize her in Augusta, but her disguise was a must, so she never left home without it.

Two hours passed, and there was no sign of James. Hunger pangs rumbled, filling the car with noise she hated hearing. Starvation wasn't an option since long periods of not eating made her nauseous, so she pulled out her phone to search for nearby restaurants. She wanted seafood. She searched online and found Bonefish Grill, her home away from home with Royce, and saw one close to the shop. After mapping out directions, she headed toward the restaurant. “I'll eat and reclaim my post in no time. James has to come
by at some point. I'll give him until seven tonight, then I'll go back to my hotel room.”

She entered the restaurant, was seated, and perused the menu. Since traveling to a new city was out of her comfort zone, she decided to try a new meal as well. She always ate the same thing every time she dined with Royce. She called her waitress over.

“I've eaten here before, but I want to try something new. What do you suggest?”

“What do you normally eat?”

“The pecan parmesan crusted rainbow trout.”

“I'd suggest the sea scallops and shrimp with a kiwi smash.”

“That sounds really good.”

“I'll put your order in. Be back with you shortly.”

Tawatha eyed the patrons and saw what she hated most about dining alone: couples. The majority of the people in the restaurant were paired up, cuddling, holding hands, and staring into each other's eyes.
When will I be able to enjoy that kind of love?
She took out her phone to text Royce. After letting him know she was safe, he texted back: “Having dinner with Millie. We have lots to discuss when you get back.”
Royce, too? I guess this means I'll have to find somewhere else to stay when I get back to Indiana.

Sensing someone staring at her, Tawatha turned toward a table behind her. A man dining alone waved to her and said
hello
.

She said hello as well and quickly turned back to her phone. Her mission was James Dixon, not the man behind her. She tapped on the
Words with Friends
icon, hoping a random opponent or Royce had either invited her to play or continued an existing game. Someone's throat cleared behind her. The man who waved stood near her.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Actually, I have a lot on my mind and wanted to be alone. You understand, don't you?”

“Absolutely. I had to tell you that I think you're beautiful. I saw you when you walked in, and the first thing I noticed was your haircut. It fits your features well. Have a nice evening, Miss.”

He returned to his seat. As he walked away, Tawatha took in his neat appearance, dark brown eyes, and calming nature. All he wanted was to join her, but in that moment, she felt there was something different about him. He was the first man in years who didn't say anything about her body or approach her with crass lines. He didn't insist they eat together; he took no for an answer.
You need a paradigm shift.
Royce's words rang in her ears again.

Her food arrived, and she devoured the scallops, shrimp, and kiwi smash. She stretched her eating time out, anticipating James's arrival at the shop.

She flagged her waitress after being beaten down by FrostRubicon in
Words with Friends.

“I'll have my check, please.”

“I'll be right back, Ms.”

Tawatha waited for the waitress to return. An older couple two tables over stared into each other's eyes. The man whispered something to her, and she playfully tapped his hand. Since her waitress hadn't returned, she approached them.

“I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to say you all look wonderful together.”

“Thank you, Miss,” said the man.

“Fifty-five years of marriage and counting,” said the woman. She gazed at Tawatha's left hand and asked, “Are you married, Miss?”

“No, but I hope to be in the near future.”

“Don't rush it,” said the man. “It's a big commitment that requires
trust, honesty, and seeing someone at their best and their worst.”

“You said a mouthful,” said the woman.

“Thanks for the advice. I'll keep that in mind.”

“You're a lovely young woman,” said the wife. “I'm sure the man who marries you will be one lucky guy.”

Tawatha imagined walking down the aisle with James. “I hope so,” she said, and returned to her table.

She pulled her wallet out to pay for dinner. The waitress returned again.

“Miss, the young man at the table paid for your meal and left me a generous tip.”

Tawatha turned to thank him, but he was gone.

“Have a good evening, ma'am,” said the waitress.

Tawatha left the restaurant, a strange mix of emotions filling her insides. She started her car, unsure of what just happened in the restaurant.

“Paradigms,” she said, and headed back to the hotel.

D
arshelle's embarrassing outburst prompted the decision between Aruba and her parents to go to James's house in Augusta. He promised he'd monitor her medication and be with her at all times. They knew Darshelle wouldn't show her face again, but they all agreed a change of scenery would be good for Aruba.

Aruba and James sat at the kitchen table; She packed promo gift bags with Jeremiah as James balanced his checkbook. Shear Heaven loved his promotion ideas. Since he arrived in Augusta and joined the Shear Heaven team, business had increased 62 percent. He tracked numbers so he could stay abreast of the salon's bottom line. The latest promo, Black Saturday, included gift bags to the first forty ladies with Saturday appointments. Each bag contained samples of his hair products, a gift card to a local restaurant, and a raffle ticket for a Christmas drawing for an all-expenses-paid vacation to Jamaica. James advertised the giveaway on WAKB, WIIZ, and WSKP-FM stations, as well as WRDW news.

“Dad, may I use this on my hair, too?” asked Jeremiah, holding up a packet of Perfect Papaya Twisting Crème.

“You could. I don't think you need it though,” said James.

“I used it and loved it,” said Aruba. “It smells great, and it's helping get my ends together. Thanks for cutting them, James.”

“Like I'd let you keep walking around looking like Fanta from
Roots.”

“I did not look like Fanta,” said Aruba. She tossed a sample of the cream at him.

“Fanta was fine, but the braids…” said James.

They burst into laughter. Aruba hadn't laughed so much in years. Aruba and James didn't label what they were; they took things day by day. She knew he still loved her; she loved him as well. She wasn't ready to jump another broom, though.

“Are you going to the shop tonight?” she asked.

“No. I have Indianapolis business to handle online, so I won't go back to Shear until tomorrow. If you don't mind dropping the bags off for me after the shop closes, I'd appreciate it. You and Jeremiah can put them in the back storage room for me.” He turned to Jeremiah. “We have Pie Day again tomorrow, Jerry.”

“Aw, man, again?” asked Jeremiah. He pretended to sulk, tying a tight knot in the bag he held.

“Why do we have Pie Day?” James asked.

Jeremiah huffed. “So I can learn to make my own pie instead of having a slice of someone else's.”

“You'll thank me for this when you're a man.”

Pie Day, James's entrepreneurship initiative with Jeremiah, happened the last Saturday of every month. He took him to Shear Heaven and gave him a list of assigned tasks to be completed within a certain time. Jeremiah greeted vendors, swept floors, performed inventory, and assisted stylists by stocking their stations with shampoo, conditioners, and gloves. The day culminated with James sending Jeremiah around the corner to a local restaurant for a miniature sweet potato pie. When he returned, James gave him a knife and made him cut a small sliver. The first time it happened,
Jeremiah furrowed his brow and said, “May I have the whole pie?”